A Not So Sudden Realisation
by AreThereAnyDamnUserNamesLeft
Summary: Probably Severitus, but could end up Mentor!Snape or Snape adopting Harry.
1. Prologue

"C'mon, Harry! It's Friday! Then the weekends here, then we're home!" Rolling his eyes, Harry turned to the potions classroom and sighed. Turning on the class, their delightful potions master proclaimed "Instructions are on the board. You will make a calming drought. I trust you are all literate? Get on with it, then!" Harry went for the ingredients, avoiding Malfoy's outstretched foot, while the water in his cauldron simmered. He was actually fairly competent at potions, but not a lesson went by when Malfoy didn't add something to his potion or switch the instructions so that everyone got it wrong. The greasy bat just turned a blind eye. This time, however, Malfoy's alteration was somewhat… explosive. Draco hadn't bothered to look at what he was about to toss in, and realised it was crushed beetle eyes. "Shit" the Malfoy heir muttered, and yelled "Duck, Harry!" With instincts ingrained from both war and the Dursley's abuse, the Boy-Who-Lived-To-Be-Tormented-By-Slytherins complied.  
While the violently purple concoction settled on the desk, the potions master swept towards him with a billow of black robes. "Detention, Mr. Potter" he hissed, clearing the mess with a lazy twirl of his wand. Hermione began to protest, saying "But sir, it was Malfoy! He put" "I know what was added to the cauldron, miss Granger. I also believe that it was Mr. Potter's mistake. Unless you would like to incur a significant point loss for your house, I suggest you end your protesting." Every Gryffindor in the room glared at Snape. If looks could kill, the professor would have dropped dead instantly. Unfortunately for them, he didn't.

A short while later, Harry stalked angrily toward the dungeons. How would the first class git explain the detention this time? Everyone from Hogsmeade to kingdom come knew it was Malfoy's fault that the potion exploded, so why was he being punished? The dungeon door woke him from his reverie, and he knocked a little harder than strictly necessary. After an eternity or three, the silky voice he despised declared "Enter". He strode in with a defiant air and faced his professor.  
Looking the bastard in the eye, he ground out "How many cauldrons this time, _sir_ ", lacing it with as much sarcasm as humanly possible. "I believe 15 should be sufficient, Mr. Potter, don't you?" was the smooth reply that the professor deigned to bestow upon the not so repentant Potter Brat. Spinning on his heel with a flair Snape himself would be proud of, The-Boy-Who-Lived-To-Hate-Potions strode to the sink and began his task, tuning out the bat's steady stream of insults. He was used to the general theme of rants, and was also far too aware that by ignoring the insults, the volume of them would increase steadily until Severus snapped and either gave up or started examining the cauldrons in a desperate attempt to find fault and give the long suffering saviour yet another detention and some heavy point loss, much to Harry's chagrin.

Snape, however, was not putting his whole heart into his traditional lecture, not even registering that his rant was being steadfastly ignored.. He was instead, rather curious. Firstly, at how the child could replicate his mannerisms so accurately- That twirl had taken him years to perfect. However, Harry's obvious ease at the repulsive task also triggered some level of confusion. Why wasn't he flinching at the scalding water, the cauldrons, or the caustic cleaner? Most students put on gloves after they realised how strong the stuff was. He'd never noticed that the 14 year old never wore them, but upon reflection, the potions master realised that the little dunderhead hadn't done so once in all his time there. Moreover, how in the hell was the Potter Brat getting them done so efficiently? Nobody, not even the most seasoned detentionee, had managed 5 cauldrons spotless in 5 minutes. Severus decided that washing up must be the boy's only chore at home, pampered prince that he was. They obviously decided anything more strenuous was too much for their delicate little saviour, he concluded, refusing to even consider any alternative explanation for the dunderhead's familiarity with the the repulsive task he had been set.

By the tenth cauldron, Harry was a little bored. It was no more difficult than Aunt Petunia's usual pans, bar the lack of handle, and he had already performed the git's favourite detention task on numerous occasions. Even the cleaner wasn't as strong as the bleach Petunia made him use. So, Harry decided to listen to the insults, as they'd give him something to focus on other than his Aunt. He wasn't expecting "pampered little prince" though, and let out a harsh snort without realising. "Something amusing to you, Mr. Potter?" murmured Snape, dangerously. "I'm as far from _pampered_ , Professor, as one can get" thought Harry, appreciating the sheer irony of the situation. But he remained silent, merely seething beneath an impassionate mask. "Honestly, boy, I enjoy a joke as much as the next twit. Care to inform me what was quite so droll about my speech?" Inwardly, Harry cringed at the use of the term "boy", as it was all too reminiscent of Uncle Vernon's speeches, leave alone feeling utterly demeaning. However, Harry merely quirked an eyebrow in a manner eerily reminiscent of Severus' own trademark expression, and turned back to his cauldrons, proud he hadn't flinched at Snape's obvious anger. It was the last day before the holidays, he thought. Not quite as reassuring a thought as it should be, but something to cling to none-the-less. If only he knew how _interesting_ the holiday could, and would, turn out to be.


	2. The Beginnings of an Interesting Holiday

It was a good couple of weeks until Harry noticed anything, which would have been surprising had he been anyone else, but Aunt Petunia would barely give him a minute to use the bathroom, leave alone stare in a mirror. No, it was the lack of his aunt raging about his hair that led Harry to suspect something. So, during his general clean of his Uncle's bedroom, a spare minute was used to glance at the small pink nightstand that Petunia loved so dearly. At first, nothing seemed off. Then, Harry realised that his hair was far straighter than usual, with just a gentle wave. Continuing his short self-examination, it was found that his fingers seemed a little longer, and that his face was less rotund.

Confused, Harry dismissed this as the general changes one found when growing older. Naturally, on Dudley's diet weight would be lost, explaining his face. And growing would change his fingers, wouldn't it? Of course, hormones may alter hair. Shrugging, he continued to scrub the nightstand and then made the bed absentmindedly.

Meanwhile, Severus was also allowing his mind to wander. He was reminiscing on his childhood with the help of a large glass of Scotch, and sulking (although he preferred the term "brooding") by the fire. "Damn Potter and his stupid hair and his stupid face and his stupid smirk and" His slightly drunken rant was cut short by his ward buzzing incessantly. "ALRIGHT, I'm coming, I'm coming…" grumbling, he strode to the door and swung it open to find the irritatingly cheerful face of Remus Lupin staring back at him. "Sev! How are you!" "What in the seven hells are you doing in Hogwarts, wolf? Moreover, why are you in my quarters?" Severus hissed the last question causing Lupin to wince a little at the close proximity. "Well, I just so happen to have a teaching position. Due to the so-called curse, they couldn't find anyone. So I've been brought in. You know, to avoid the ministry dumping someone on the school?" Grumbling, Severus invited the damnable creature in and allowed him to sit down.

"So, how've you been? I know I only missed a year, but still, lots happened. How did the tournament go? I meant to watch it, but they wouldn't let me, said it was overcrowded." Severus took the brief opportunity to cut in as the overenthusiastic defence teacher took a breath. "I've been fine, the tournament was stressful, and yes it was very crowded." He took a swig of his drink in preparation for the barrage of questions he was sure to face. "So, have there been any more staff changovers? I mean, the whole Moody thing aside, I got that tale as soon as Alastor reached Grimmauld. Speaking of Alastor, are you coming when we take Harry? Tonks caught dragonpox, sad really, but she'll recover. Also, d'you" "Oh for the love of Merlin Remus, one question at a time!" Severus was in for a tiring night. 

"BOY! GET YOUR SORRY SELF DOWN THESE STAIRS! NOW!" The boy in question flinched at the eldest Dursley's yell, and walked swiftly and quietly with a practiced efficiency to the hallway to meet the formidable form of his enraged uncle. Vein in his forehead throbbing, Vernon's meaty fist swung and made contact with his nephew's nose, producing a sickening crack. Knowing better than to speak, Harry hung his head submissively and attempted to mask the intense pain he was feeling. "Why are my shirts not hung on the left side of my wardrobe, idiot whelp?" Uncle Vernon demanded. "Sorry sir. I thought you said the right side, sir, I didn't mean to be impertinent, sir," Was the meek and harried reply. "Well listen better, thicko! Bloody spawn of a drunk, I shouldn't have expected any more from you. You'll get nowhere in life with parents like yours boy! Twenty will suffice today." Harry accepted the proffered belt and trailed to his room, the heavy breaths of his uncle following him. He knew it was more likely to be thirty once Vernon got into his stride.

Eventually, the saviour of the wizarding world was left in peace, to treat his stinging back. He had borrowed- well, stolen- some of the pain relieving potions from Madam Pomfrey, and had learnt the recipes to several pastes to treat cuts and bruises; ones that didn't need a flame or cauldron in particular. He did his best to clean the welts, and breathed a sigh of relief as the paste worked its magic. They weren't too bad this time. Dragging himself off the floor, he went to rectify the cause of his punishment. Again.

Severus Snape also breathed a sigh of relief, as Lupin left his room. It was about time really, as conversation had turned to more unpleasant topics, such as his deep seated hatred for James Potter. Contrary to the wolf's naïve belief, it was no schoolboy grudge. He had no idea the lengths that Potter reached to torment him, or the true pain he had felt with every jinx. No, that particular hatred ran deep and wide. It was irrevocable. Or so Snape attempted to convince himself.

It had been years since his thoughts on the Potters had been called into question, 12 to be exact. Not even Dumbledore had dared attempt to convince Severus that James may have had his good points. No, the old fool had some semblance of self-preservation. So how dare that blasted creature have the arrogance to suggest that Severus Snape, youngest potions master since records began, and spy on behalf of the order, be _wrong_?! It was simply inexcusable. Full of self-gratuitous rage, said potions master paced the length of his room. Maybe Potter did have his good points… he had funded the order for several years almost single handed… _what_ was he _doing_! He simply couldn't think such things. It was plain wrong. And with that thought, he trawled to his room to find peace at the bottom of a bottle of Ogden's Finest.


	3. Everything Could Be Better

Severus awoke from his alcohol induced slumber with the familiar headache and dry mouth. With a groan, one sleep heavy hand reached out for his water, knocking it off the dresser in its haste. Swearing quietly, Snape stumbled from his bed and found his way to the bathroom with little to none of the trademark poise that was usually exhibited. After a shower and an obscenely large cup of coffee, the potions master felt able to manage human interaction, and with that thought he paced to the fireplace in order to contact Mad-Eye, with the intent to find out just when he was expected to accompany the ragtag bunch of wannabe aurors to the Potter Brat's luxurious home to "rescue" the boy. Snorting at the thought of the pampered prince-who-lived actually requiring rescue, the handful of floo powder was flung into the fire.

While his professor was completing said tasks, the boy in question was also steeling himself for human contact; however unlike his professor believed, he was in dire need of rescue. Wincing as the welts on his back complained at the sudden movement, he crawled out of the cupboard he had been relegated to. His uncle had discovered that Harry had managed to treat his injuries, and had delivered the biggest thrashing yet. The Boy-Who-Lived couldn't have survived the beating that Vernon wanted to give him though. Petunia had stepped in to tone down the eldest Dursley's rage somewhat, citing the benefits they received for tolerating their nephew's presence. Without the herbs that were in what was his room, Harry was left to manage the pain with a little water and willpower.

Making breakfast, all sorts of thoughts went through the suffering boy's mind. Firstly, how in the hell did one make an egg that was runny, but not runny, as his delightful cousin had requested. Secondly, what was the protocol from here? Harry wasn't stupid, he knew that the beatings his uncle were delivering could be-should be- classed as child abuse. But how the fuck could anyone know about it? Rita Skeeter would have a field day, Molly would smother him to death, Remus would blame himself, Snape would taunt him with the information… shit. What if Snape _did_ find out somehow? The ministry might as well sign the death certificate for one Harry James Potter there and then. Cause of Death? One too many sarcastic comments led to Harry's unsuccessful attempted murder of Professor Snape, who slaughtered him in overenthusiastic "Self Defence".

Unaware of his fictitious crime, the felon in the making was turning over his hash browns while contemplating jumping from a fourth storey window to avoid the task set by Albus Dumbledore. Merlin, the man thought nobody had a life! How the fool could believe that everyone could just up brooms and go at 5pm- BROAD DAYLIGHT- to fetch a boy who wouldn't want to leave the damn house anyway, the professor had no idea. Groaning, he realised his breakfast was utterly carbonised due to the internal ranting. Throwing it away, the disaster was added to the litany of things that Potter would be punished for upon return to Hogwarts. A little cheered by this prospect, the Bat of the Dungeons began preparing a fresh breakfast while contemplating punishments that he could legally give.

Harry shivered. His uncle's fist bore down on him, and he braced for the inevitable impact. Another rib, he mentally added to the tally. And another. There goes a knee, hip, shoulder. Falling to the floor, the Boy-Who-Lived fell into the welcome blackness of unconsciousness while Vernon and Dudley's blows hammered into him.

"Mundungus, quit your chattering! This is serious! We may know the child's aunt and uncle are away, but he may still be in some level of danger! Take this seriously! Oh for Merlin's sake, don't start shivering now!" Alastor Moody's bark rang through Grimmauld like a gunshot as Snape approached the window through which they would leave. As soon as everyone had mounted their brooms, they left in perfect formation. Gliding over London, Severus thanked every deity there was for the invention of a disillusionment charm that covered brooms as he stole a glance at the pedestrians below.

Harry was a crumpled heap on the floor still. His inhalations were shuddering rattles, and a desperate wheeze accompanied each exhale. They were the only sounds in the house, as the Dursley's had left for their "Lawn Competition". A slight rustle betrayed Hedwig's indignation at being trapped in her cage as she awoke.

After an eternity of flying over the motorway, Moody indicated that they should turn left. Cursing ensued from everyone as they realised that it meant passing through low cloud. Kingsley spoke up, pointing that they were invisible anyway, and the seasoned auror relented. Swerving, they reached what he assumed was the Potter Brat's estate. Dismounting they put their brooms into a charmed box that the wolf had set up the previous week, and removed the charms on themselves as they elected to walk visibly. It avoided the necessity of watching out for other people, and the questions raised if someone bumped into a muggle accidentally. Even better, Potter would see them coming and have more time to worry. The thought elicited a smirk, and the double agent caught up with the others.

"This place is like a rabbit warren!" Mundungus whined as they picked their way through turn after turn on the estate. "Shut _up_ , 'dung. We're nearly there." Was Kingsley's exasperated reply, accompanied by a stinging hex curtesy of Moody. A glare from Severus was the professor's contribution, and Remus strode on, ignoring Mundungus' complaint. "Look, Privet Drive. We just gotta find number 4 now." "Merlin's sake Remus, do you have to be so loud? We might have a tail! Or spies nearby!" hissed Mad-Eye urgently. Rolling his eyes at the man's paranoia, the blasted wolf just checked door numbers placidly. "14, 12, 10, 8, named house, garage, 4! Here we are! Number 4, Privet Drive" Severus looked up at the house that was the apparent residence of the boy saviour. No lights were on, and he couldn't hear a TV. Maybe the brat was outside.

As they strode in, a stench of blood hit their noses. Remus visibly cringed as he announced, to everyone's horror "It's Harry's. MOVE!". They split up. Severus' mind raced as they looked in bathrooms, bedrooms, closet, the kitchen, dining room. It seemed impossible to fins the source of the smell. Congregating in the hallway, they began to announce theories and stories, everyone's opinion was being weighted in. "SILENCE!" Moody screamed, daring them to continue talking. "I believe we should-"Then, a rattle and wheeze was heard from under the stairs. Disbelievingly, they opened the dingy cupboard to find the child-no,- _brat_ on a worn baby's mattress covered in blood. " _Shit."_


	4. An Understanding is Approached

Remus was the first to move, after they stood dumfounded at their discovery. He sent a patronus to Hogwarts as Severus shook off his stupor and scooped the damn boy up in his arms, apparently forgetting who he was. The group strode down Petunia's spotless hallway in fury, and Moody swung the door open and the mismatched gang vanished with a sharp and urgent crack! of apparition.  
"Poppy? POPPY! We're here! Hurry up!" Madame Pomfrey swept down the corridor of the unforgivingly white infirmary, professional mask firmly in place. Pointing to a bed to direct the still somewhat stunned Snape, she shot spell after spell at Harry, her face dropping with each one. Shooing Mundungus and Moody from the ward, the two professors leaned over the bed to read the reports from the spells, and began to gather potions and ointments to assist Poppy.  
Hour after hour passed by, as the-boy-who-lived fought for his hard earned life. He responded with a groan at best, utterly oblivious to the flurry of action around him. The bat of the dungeons became the hermit of the hospital wing, much to everyone's surprise. The truth of the matter was that the potions master felt somewhat guilty. He believed himself responsible for delaying the rescue of the boy with stubborn insistence on believing his apparently delusional fantasies of a pampered and delightful homelife. The ex-death eater did not want to believe that he had anything- anything at all in common with the chosen one. However, looking closely at the ch- _brat,_ he even spotted physical similarities. They both had black hair, the boy's formerly rotund face had thinned (no doubt thanks to the Dursley's tender mercies) showing high cheekbones. His hair was growing too, giving the eerie resemblance more prominence.  
The dungeon bat's musings were brought to a sharp halt by a groan form the bed. The ch- _idiot_ was waking up. "Deigned to return to the living, Potter?" 

Harry was awoken by a sharp eye staring at him. Groaning, the boy-who-awoke-to-pain was greeted by his _favourite_ professor. However, the lack of usual malice was not lost on Harry, and vague memories of a black cloaked man carrying him induced a slight blush. "Why am I in the hospital wing? Has term begun?" "No, Mr. Potter. The order decided that you were to be taken to headquarters. We found you half dead. Perhaps you would enlighten us as to why?"

Severus made his move in the verbal tennis match. He was not above the use of legilimency, but he decided to allow the boy a chance to explain. He did not expect the violent flinch that Har- _the potter boy_ produced, and was further astonished by the child crawling up the bed to get away from him. "NO _no_ no… I just… I… fell. Down the stairs. Yes, that's it, I tripped, hit my head… that's all. That's it." If Snape had not been alerted to the fact he was lying by the constant denial, the boy's body language would have given it away in an instant. He wouldn't meet the professor's eyes, in a blatant attempt to avoid legilimency. Oh, if only occlusion was that easy. "So, if I were to ask your uncle, he wouldn't tell me that he had beaten you up for attempting to heal your previous beating?" While the outward expression was carefully schooled, Snape cursed enough to make a soldier blush inwardly. It was not a one off. _Fuck.  
_ "It was just a bit more than I could manage. That's all. I shouldn't have healed it, it was wrong of me…" The boy's murmur's tailed off. "Potter." No reply. " _Potter"._ Silence."Harry". Startled by the use of his given name, he looked up. "I do believe that you should understand that it is futile for you to even attempt to lie to me. So I ask again. Was this the work of your uncle?" An almost imperceptible nod of the head was Ha- _Potter's_ reply. Why Snape kept thinking of the idiot by his first name was beyond his understanding. With a sigh, Severus turned to the green-eyed boy in the hospital bed, suddenly struck by an unfamiliar wave of something. Pity, perhaps? No. More empathy. Squashing the feeling as soon as it arrived, he spoke in a clinical, detached tone. "Very well. Now, the question is, where shall we put you over summer?"  
"I guess back at the Dursley's? I don't want to be a burden on anyone… they were just a little excessive this time, that's all…" Harry replied, warily. He knew Snape would be annoyed if he suggested anywhere else. However, the boy-who-lived was startled by the intensity of the potion master's reaction. "I would sooner take you in my-fucking _-self_ than send you back there, you dunderheaded idiot! They were _abusive_! Why can't you understand that?" Snape himself was also confused by how passionate his response had been. "You are 14, Potter. You cannot honestly believe that your home life resembled normal in any way, can you?"  
"Well… not normal exactly. But I was dumped on them; they didn't need another mouth to feed…" Exasperated, Severus nearly slapped the boy out of his delusion. Instead, he did something he never in all his life believed he would do. "HARRY. You are not the only child to go through this. You cannot seriously think that Hogwarts has never seen a case of abuse before? There are procedures in place. I understand them with far more intimacy than most. Get some sleep. Tell Poppy when you wake up." "You too?" the boy whispered, as though he believed it was a lie.  
Snape had been abused? Snape? Really? Damn, they actually had something in common. Harry's mind raced as he asked for confirmation. "Yes." Was the clipped reply bestowed upon him as the formidable professor left the room in a billow of robes.

Severus' heart raced as he left the hospital wing. Tales of a sad childhood would race through the student population as soon as they arrived. But then again, would they? He was fairly sure that the world had dropped out of orbit as his opinion of the Potter brat was forced to change.


End file.
